Aftershock
by Anjanas
Summary: You've all read the Prophet, but the people in question were never able to give their side of the story. Until now. After years of dedicated effort I tracked down Miss Hermione Granger and Mr Severus Snape. I will let them tell their own stories, though I have included other interviews where necessary to confirm what they say. I hope this goes a great way into clearing their names


1

_You've all read the Prophet, but the people in question were never able to give their side of the story._

_Until now._

_After years of dedicated effort I tracked down Miss Hermione Granger and Mr Severus Snape. I will let them tell their own stories, though I have included other interviews where necessary to confirm what they say._

_I hope this goes a great way into clearing their names._

H: It was difficult at first.

I learnt to announce my presence when I dropped by his room, so I wouldn't see the whites of his eyes as he stared at the door, sweat collecting on his forehead, hands clammy around some awful, substandard replacement wand he didn't need, but kept touching as a security blanket.

So I made sure I always, always knocked.

He wasn't exactly friendly, but he… I could tell he appreciated it, you know?

S: Hermione raised her hand to adjust my collar, or remove some fluff, or something. I knew it was a dangerous movement, and I tried to do as the therapist suggested. Deep breathing, focusing on the feeling of the air as it went over my nostrils, but her hand was getting closer and I wanted to be normal for her, unphased, but I just...

I just couldn't.

I took a step back and covered my throat with my hands at the same time, finding it as scarred as it always was. Not really my body, not anymore. Nagini had done her worst, and I was left in this scrabbling, awful sack of meat.

Hermione gasped, pressing white fingers against her lips, apologising.

Always apologising.

"Not your fault," I told her, gruffly.

My voice was always gruff, nowadays. Gruff, or hoarse. Tired, stretched out. Used.

"No, I should have guessed." She gave me a strained smile, as though trying to reassure me that everything was okay.

I shrugged, stopped stroking that scar. After a moment, took her hand in mind, and felt relieved when she squeezed back.

It didn't remove the itch between my shoulder blades, the constant worry we were - _I was_ \- being watched, the fear that crinkled behind my ears.

Instead it warmed my heart.

H: Then one day, I showed up to volunteer as I always did, after class so around 5 or 6, and he was gone. Discharged.

But I'd seen him, the way he acted. Shoulders always hunched around his ears, furtive movements as though everyone was plotting against him. No matter what the Mediwitch said, he wasn't _well_.

He'd always been a jerk but the Professor Snape was that in that ward room was… hostile, yes. Combative, sure. And scared. So, so scared.

And… I understood. I felt the same way. Some days, it was all I could do to force myself out of bed, to go back to Hogwarts and walk through those ruined walls while teams of people attempted to repair her, and sit in classrooms populated by ghosts.

Ghosts of the living and the dead.

It was… it took a lot out of me. But then, after that was over, I could _Apparate_ to London and help people, and it made getting out of bed worth it, somehow.

That was how I dealt with it. I kept myself so busy I didn't have time to think of anything else.

But Professor Snape didn't have that luxury. Every day he'd been in the ward two Aurors had stood outside his room, making sure nobody was coming to hurt him… or help him. I've never been sure which. He wasn't allowed to leave.

So I couldn't leave him.

It took me a quick change of outfit and fifteen minutes to find out where they'd taken him.

S: Oh, you wanted to talk about… well we first met when she was 11, which rather brings the relationship into question. Ah, not quite that far back then. When we first met after the war… I don't know what I expected. I was stuck in that tiny room, boxed in, and my only entertainment was a newspaper the guards threw away around lunchtime. I was bored, in pain and angry. I had no clothes, no books, nothing… I didn't trust anyone with the location to Spinner's End, of course. They'd only have burnt it to the ground as soon as they found it. During that last year I'd added so many layers to the wards it was even dangerous for me to go there, I was so scared they'd find it.

I had enough enemies, on both sides.

So I was lying in bed with some cast-off pyjamas and a bent wand, and then in Hermione marches like it's her job. Gave me a terrible fright, of course, but I hid it well. Then the second night, she brought books. Piles and piles of books, shrunk down and in her bag. She left the bag there, too, this awful beaded thing full to the brim with books.

And that was when I realised she'd robbed my Hogwarts rooms.

H: Oh, he… he told you about that, did he? That was before he disappeared. I just thought he might feel more comfortable with his books by him. I may have mentioned that he wanted them nearby a sensitive house elf, who made sure I could access his private quarters, exactly as he had left them.

No, I don't know why nobody had been able to access them before. Hogwarts is a weird and wonderful place, a place where magic truly does come to life, in a way. And if walls could talk, they'd tell you how brave Severus Snape is.

But yes, I stole from him.

And boy did he let me know it.

S: I didn't expect much from Gryffindors in general, but stealing? A teacher's belongings?

And yet, she hadn't trashed them. Or shared them with Potter. She'd brought them to me.

It was… difficult to be angry with her after that.

The rest of them? Yes, to be sure. Furious.

But her? I tried, I really tried. But she just kept showing up.

H: They'd imprisoned him! They'd actually taken him to Azkaban, awaiting trial. I was so furious, I swear I was shaking. Fists clenched, red face, the works. My hair kept frizzing up like I was attached to the mains I was so angry.

But I thought, war hero or no, they'll never take you seriously if you just march straight in there and start screaming, so I went and sat on his old bed.

I also thought I could make myself useful and… well, make the bed. For any new residents. Clean sheets, plumped pillows - part of my usual volunteering duties.

That was when I noticed my bag.

Of course they wouldn't let him take anything with him to Azkaban, why would they want their prisoners to focus on anything other than how cold and uncomfortable they were? Even without Dementors it was a hell of a place.

So, of course, I applied for a permit to visit.

And then I took a copy of it and hounded the Undersecretary, Percy Weasley, for three days straight.

I skipped school. It just didn't feel right to go back to Hogwarts and study, be happy, prepare for my future, while they ripped his away. I only went home to shower and sleep, change clothes, that kind of thing. Try not to think about my parents, somewhere else, living a life, not knowing they had a daughter.  
And I kept that beaded bag over my shoulder.

It was a sign of… well, of everything. Of how awful that last year had been, when Professor Snape had somehow found us in the middle of the woods and left us the sword. Of how scared I'd been in Bellatrix Lestrange's clutches. How… terrible the whole year was, and how the way they were treating Severus just wasn't right.

Eventually Percy signed the form. It - _I _\- was beginning to transition from nuisance to brewing political scandal, and he wanted no part of it.

S: You can imagine my surprise the next time I saw her. I thought I was finally free of the Gryffindor know-it-all, but there she is, standing outside my cell door, bag firmly gripped in one fist.

I was a bit flabbergasted.

I mean, what was she doing _here_ of all places?

Shouldn't she have been studying for her OWLs?

H: He asked me why I was risking failing my OWLs. I think I laughed at that.

S: She burst into tears. I… It was the first time I felt like an arse, to be honest. I'd had to treat the Gryffindors with scorn for years, it was almost a habit by that point. And… I suppose a part of it was the fear. I was going to be tried, and probably killed, because I'd _done the right thing_ for years, and done it so well nobody knew I was pretending.

Except, it seemed, for Miss Hermione Granger.

So I apologised.

H: I think that was the moment he solidified in my mind.

Before then, he'd been a sort of concept. An arrogant, stern professor who always wanted what was best for us, but didn't care trampling all over our egos to get it.

And then suddenly he's apologising? It was a bit of a left-turn for sure.

He went from being a project, a wronged person who needed someone a bit stronger, a bit more powerful to advocate for them… to being a person.

S: Eventually she stopped crying long enough to thrust the bag through the cells. I… I wasn't sure I was allowed the bag, to be honest, but the guards were inattentive at best, and Azkaban overpopulated just enough that… Well, I wasn't going to say no to a small bag packed full of books.

"I know you won't be able to enlarge them," she said, sniffing and unattractively scrubbing her nose with the back of her hand, "so I… Well, take one out."

I am, if nothing else, a careful man.

"Are you seriously not going to-"

"Miss Granger, I am no fool. If someone wanted to remove one of my appendages, or possibly myself, I can think of no better disguise than a former student, crying, and handing me contraband."

She howled, like a banshee, and beckoned for the bag back.

At this point, afraid she'd call all the guards onto us, I did as instructed. The guards were... not good people.

H: Before I knew it, I was visiting every day. I gave up volunteering at the ward, at least until after his trial. I couldn't face it anymore, walking down the endless corridors, constantly keeping track of where his room was. It was… like I was trying to be two people at once. The one who knew nothing about how unfair the ministry was being, and the one who was battling it every step of the way. It all became a bit too much.

S: When she pulled out a book, the lining of the bag shimmered, and bam, a full-size book. She slid it back in, and it automatically shrank.

I have no idea how she did it, to this day, but she had truly thought of everything.

As long as I was careful, I could read.

And then she passed her hand through the bars, and patted my own.

I think I jumped about a foot in the air, dropped the bag, and stared at her, panting, my hands raised defensively in front of my body, even though I couldn't cast anything, not in my cell, not with the wards of Azkaban pressing against my skin.

In that moment, she was everyone I hated. My father, Dumbledore, James Potter… everyone.

I wanted to rip her into pieces.

Just for a second, mind you… a long, arduous second where I argued with myself, tried to rationalise.

But that was when I realised I belonged in Azkaban.

H: During the day I holed up in the library, reading every book they had on unlawful imprisonment - or the magical equivalent, Incarceration by Suspicion Alone.

They wanted to try him. Percy said it was to publicly clear his name, but I mean… think about it, they could have just pardoned him. They _knew_ what he'd been through, how he'd risked his life, and they still wanted to chain him to a chair and force him to answer their questions.

I wasn't going to have it.

PW: Why did the department of the Minister want to interview Professor Snape? We believed, still believe, that the man knows of several Person of Interest (POI) who supported or otherwise helped Voldemort to gain power between the years of 1993 and 1997, and we believed the only way to obtain these names was to take him to trial.  
Also, can you imagine the allegations of favouritism if we hadn't? It's due process to interview such suspects after the battle. The man who killed Dumbledore didn't deserve a full pardon. He didn't deserve Hermione Granger, either.


End file.
